3 Idiots or 3 Geniuses?

I watched ” 3 IDIOTS” yesterday and I just couldn’t help but write a movie review of it because I am still slurpy with the delicious hangover of the Movie. It would be unfair for my readers if I spill out the entire story line,  but all I can say is a ‘hats off’ to the entire team of the movie “3 Idiots”.

The movie is based on the trend setting genre of English writing novel, “Five Point Someone” but it has been modified quite a lot from the book so that you don’t feel as if it’s just a replica of the book where you exactly know what’s going to happen next. The movie challenges the Indian education system and the mentality of Indian society where you are accepted as ‘educated’ and ‘successful’ if you fall into either of the  much hyped  streams of “Medical” or “Engineering”.  Keeping the humour alive always, it subtly ridicules cramming,   “Commit and Vomit” in exams, bookish teaching etc.  The message is simple and loud…. Children should be encouraged to choose a profession which they think is their passion, else they will never achieve the excellence in knowledge of their field.  Teachers should teach in a way  that they generate interest in the subject, a way in which they teach the concept rather  than a mere spoon feed to pass exams.

One would leave the movie with plenty of food for thought and the hangover of emotionally choking scenes.  It speaks the bond of friendship created in hostels and if you are someone like me, who has stayed in hostels,  you can’t help being nostalgic.  There are scenes which just steal your heart away,  like the one where Aamir saves Sharman’s dad’s life by taking him to hospital on a scooter, one where Madhavan speaks to his dad about his desire to take up wild life photography as his passion, Sharman’s candid Interview, a scene where the 3 Idiots are drinking and Aamir speaks that one should always follow one’s passion rather than a rat race, the scene where Sharman attempts suicide with the opera being played in the background and a sleeping Boman  and the list of such scenes can go on and on.

The script of the movie  by Rajkumar Hirani and Abhijat Joshi is excellent bringing up the humane approach once again.  The cinematography by C.K. Muraleedharan, capturing the picturesque beauty of Ladakh is awesome  and just no words for Mr. Hirani’s direction. The music by Shantanu Moitra fits really well and  Bosco Caesar  doesn’t miss a mention for the choreography of the song “Zoobi Doobi”.  The dialogues are heart stealing,  specially the “balatkaar” speech on Teachers’ Day. The innovation and models shown in this movie are also a worth mention as they really enthrall the audience.

The performances by Sharman Joshi , R Madhavan  and Kareena Kapoor doesn’t just dilute because of the star power and author backed roles of Aamir Khan and Boman Irani.  Sharman is like the emotional voice of the story and Madhavan is the observer, the neutral player. Omi Vaidya as Chatur Ramalingam is really interesting and seems as if he goes under the skin of the character.

Aamir Khan has done it once again just like every time with his awesome portrayal of the character Ranchoddas Shyamaldas Chanchad alias Rancho. He has not only managed to look  a fresh 22 year old in his forties but  has also managed to carry the carefree body language, awestruck visions and agility in innovations,  that a 22 year old has.  The body language where Aamir is pulled by Boman from his office to the classroom, the way he holds his side bag always etc. is amazing and speaks volume of the amount of hard work  of Aamir that went behind playing Rancho.

Boman Irani has simply altered himself to fit perfectly in the character of the genius, strict, competitive, Principal Viru Shastrabuddhe alias ViruS.  The way he walks, talks, dresses  will just leave you with admiration for the capabilities of Boman as an Actor.

My only recommendation to everyone would be to positively watch this movie because you just can’t afford to miss something which would be a legend, a Classic in Indian Cinema.  I hope that the movie not only does well in touching hearts and keeping the box office coins ringing but also becomes a case study in professional Institutes to encourage innovativeness and originality and to the Parents to let their child free,  to seek  their passion in life and follow it.

Drunken Maharashtra

We need to change definition of democracy and rules / regulation for it. These politicians are taking India for a ride and giggling about it.

Thanks for news channel for bringing forward the issue of starting winery by politicians of Rice, Jowary,  other dals and food grains in Maharashtra. And  licenses are provided to their relatives to manufacturer wine from these food grains and make Maharashtra dizzy.

Hey dude are you crazy there is no rain, food production, no water, no farming, where the hell you will get raw material for producing wine. This will increase the price of food grains and pulses which are already sky rocketing.

Dumb, even if we have a bumper crop the idea is silly to increase treasury of state Govt. Why don’t they concentrate on more important issues which are burning like wild fire, farmers committing suicide, floods affected people still suffering, fisherman bodies still floating in sea due to recent storm and what about 26/11 ?

After the election the elected members are hale and hearty enjoying their power with wine and women.  Do they want another Goa in Maharashtra where people are born and brought up drunk. The people in Goa are so lazy they hardly bother about working for a livelihood. Its only tourism which had kept Goa alive otherwise it would had been another small village in India.

Hello !!! food grain and pulses are for  eating and not for drinking.  We work hard to get this ration every month in our home. If you politicians want to drink and make merry with women please spent it from your own pockets.

At least now they have put a stay on this idea, hope they never come out with it again. We hope for a bumper rain and crop next year and beat the issues.

3 Marbles and a dash of childhood

They rushed out exhilarating, all excited with a marble each, cozily nestled in their tiny palms, cocooned tightly in their hands, safe and snug. Not that they had beforehand decided that they’d meet up to play, but they rushed outdoors anyways. What game would be played with those three marbles none had a clue. That was something which would get decided on the fly, casually. Who would take the den wasn’t preplanned either. Their games wouldn’t bear too much of systematic planning. It was all kept spontaneous. And in this very spontaneity there lied a charm. In those marbles was hidden a childhood;  in their games was hidden an innocence. Nothing learnt, nothing practiced, yet all was so well synchronized.

Three friends with three marbles tucked in their sweaty palms, each trotting along to play effortlessly. Petty squabbles were a part of their play, and none seemed to really mind it. It was all taken in stride.

Their marbles were colorful, vibrant red, green and yellow. And those marbles weren’t purchased; they were accidentally discovered by the trio one day right behind the guava orchards, as they were returning from school,. Exactly three marbles were found, as if they were deliberately kept there just for those three friends. Hence the marbles had all the more special place in each of their hearts. It was almost a year since they had possessed these marbles.

This was way back in their childhood days.

Today their ages are ripe, yet, so many years down the line, there are two things each of them still has preserved affectionately—the three marbles, and their friendship bondage.

Strange as it may sound, one day the trio decided to meet up at one of their own friend’s place. No occasion, no reason, just casually, over dinner. During the course of the conversation, they remembered their marbles. In fact, the marbles hadn’t merely been their play things; they had been their platform, on which was staunchly sitting their years of friendship and companionship. So marbles were always there at the back of their minds. For this dinner, even their respective spouses had accompanied them. As the lively evening was coming to a close, one of the spouses decided to play a prank with the trio of friends. He had already heard enough stories of their “Marbles and Togetherness stuff”. Now he thought it would be a right time to test these friends. So he declared to the three- The next time we meet up, please bring along your marbles; for let us also see how grounded and firm your friendship is, so much defined by three marbles”.

Their next meeting was an occasion- one of the spouses’ birthdays, which was lined up the subsequent Sunday.

They dispersed, only to meet again the subsequent Sunday. When probed about the marbles, the three quietly opened their shining purses and removed a red, a green, and a vibrant yellow marble each, only to see some astonished expressions unfold before their eyes. Their spouses were left speechless.

After all, even the spouses realized and had to admit, they the marbles for the lady friends weren’t simply play things—the three marbles belonging to the three friends, who shared the thickest of friendships had in them a splendid dash of their childhood and of the younger years gone by………

To Sir, With Love..

They say that the best days of our life are the ones you spend in school. Timidly sharing secrets, giving each other a hand, learning to laugh at ourselves we don’t realise when we grow up into adulthood, unrecognisable from the scrawny kids we had been. When we recall our school days,  a hazy blur of toothless grins, broken toys, vicious teachers and a melange of bright colours comes to our mind. But for me, school meant just one word,  “Sir”.

His name was Paresh Mehta but we didn’t know it at that time. He taught us Geography. To all of us second grade kids, he was our wisdom, our learning, our school, our Sir. He always wore a crisp cotton shirt with rolled up sleeves with blue or black trousers. His hair was neatly combed and he wore sophisticated black rimmed spectacles that everyone admired. His teaching was never limited to the subject he was technically paid to teach. He taught us how to walk with a straight back chin pointing upwards, to make little boats, rockets, animals and birds from paper strips and how to run downhill with air sucked in, putting a lot more pressure on your toes than the sole.

He was my friend, my most trusted confidante. I’d often tell him things that I’d never say aloud to myself even. His smile comforted, his patience bolstered and his unspoken words encouraged me.  He was my teacher, undoubtedly, but he was also something more than the ambit of the seven letter word.

Once, I failed in Geography, and with that so did my courage to face him. I took a break from school and spent the days playing hide and seek and marbles. A couple of days later, I was whooping with joy for having won a game of toss when I looked up to find the breath being whooshed out of me like I had been sucker punched. Sir just smiled down at me, calm as always.

I don’t really remember what happened after that but Mom told me that I had fainted and Sir had carried me inside my house, with loving hands and a worried face. On feeling better, he came to see me and told me something that I can never forget. “I’m happy you failed today child. No don’t look at me like that. Now I know you will succeed in whatever you do because you’ve climbed the hardest step to success. Failure.”

I returned to school happily the next day to a welcoming class and a secret smile from Sir. Years later, after getting a distinction in my tenth standard, I left the city to go to a college far off. I never heard from Sir after that since I had no occasion to return. But every year, an enormous bouquet of white roses, his favourite, find their way to his doorstep on Teacher’s Day to a man who probably understood the power, the magic of that word. A small note tucked into the flowers reads “To Sir, with Love”.

Life’s Laps

No one is born with an objective. It’s the one we create.

At times,  we wonder what life is,  what’s the purpose of living,  why are we here, what did we dream of,  what should we achieve in life,  why few people are successful and why some are not, why we are entitled to such a situation,  etc.  Human mindset is like that.  Most people are not with what they have. And some of them claim they are satisfied, but not.  Alas, only very few actually feel that sense of satiety in life.

When people go over different laps in their life,  they tend to think that the lap they are in is not so fine and could have been better.  Say, when you are at college, you feel your school life was the best,  and after college you think your college life was the best.  When you are in your own country,  you strive hard to go to some foreign destination and when you are finally in that foreign nation, you think that your country was the best and you should not have come here.

Human mind always aims for something or the other and have a sense of dissatisfaction when it fails. Why don’t we think, “Yahoo! I did it” when we win and “Hmm… well… It didn’t click for me but that’s fine” when we fail and go with the same feeling as we would have won???  New things always excite people. Be it a new job, new school, newly wed, new dress, but as time fades, fun degrades…  Those ‘once new’ things are not new anymore and not interesting anyhow…  Why is that?  Why can’t gift your spouse the same way you did for your first anniversary?

As we take new laps in life, we leave things behind which were new earlier and concentrate on the new ‘new’ thereby. No one is born with an objective. It’s the one that we create. It’s like when you were at school,  your objective is to get a good name in your school’s roll of honour.  When you were at college,  your objective was to enjoy the first few years and when you slid towards the end of your college life, your objective to get a lucrative job or go for higher studies.

When you’ve spent considerable amount of time at gaining work experience,  your objective was to build a house and get married.  When you hit your late twenties, your objective to bring children into your life.  When your children grew,  your objective was to shape them towards a goal for their better lives.  And these objectives metamorphose into new shapes when you drive into different laps. But, why do the objectives in each lap remain the same for almost everyone?  While these objectives are not the predefined rules in a dossier, why most of us take the same road? Well, I guess no one has an answer. But life goes on and on… And we run behind something as always.

Regret or Rejoice? It’s in our hands! When you rejoice, it’s bliss! So, why not?

Education – Made ‘Materialistic’

Every  day I come across many persons including my parents saying , ” Don’t waste time! Study for the exams “.  Not only my parents but I think all the parents at least say these dialogues once in a day to their children . Of course, scoring good marks in schools and colleges is necessary, because these numbers and grades plays an important role in our next stage of life. There is  stiff competition among humans in every field but only the Darwin’s theory of   ‘ Survival of the Fittest ‘ is  applicable. Because even we have loads of potentials, only the fittest who overcome others can succeed now. But we assumed that only by reading and scoring marks can only make us to take part in the race to survive. But this is totally wrong.  Education is nothing but the process of learning about something to acquire knowledge about it. But today education has  become materialistic, just for scoring marks and getting a job which would pay many thousands. Nowadays, in  India, every entrance exam needs a student to be a top scorer as a necessary criteria. Its not wrong but all the others who don’t qualify for those exams are not fools or stupid. Most of the entrance exams for colleges have subjects that are being studied in schools. This changes the approach of the students who turn into a bookworm instead of gaining knowledge. As a result education has turned out to be a tool for taking up a job and money. This only will make make us  ‘ ignorant ‘ and ‘ fools ‘ . Education doesn’t mean scoring top marks in the exams. Its not education if you do not want to know anything you read and don’t have interest in knowing about in depth about it. But unfortunately this is the current situation in our country except in few national institutions. This materialistic approach has to be changed immediately in order to produce well  ‘ educated ‘ citizens. Its not the responsibility of the government but of our society and our parents too. First of all , every parent should encourage and motivate their children when they try something new . They should help them to change their mind set so that they can realize that only scoring marks is not important. They should help them to acquire knowledge about anything when they need to know, even though its not going to deal nothing with exams. The society should encourage and felicitate people who are well ‘ educated ‘ rather than felicitating the one who earns lakhs of money and does nothing to anybody. It may not be a big issue to see not as a student, but if it continues it will surely turn out to be a problem concerned with mental ability of our citizens  when compared to other nations .

Comments are requested….

Believing is Seeing

Live music concerts sometimes can be intimidating.  What if I don’t understand the music?  What if I don’t know how to listen correctly?  What if I don’t get it?  What if I do not nod my head at the right places?  These questions used to haunt me.

In spite of his feeling,  I landed up in concerts quite regularly because many in my close circle friends are ardent music lovers.  Sometimes I was in concerts because friends wanted to attend and I was pulled along;  sometimes friends were performing and I needed to be there to cheer them; Whatever be the reason I started enjoying listening to music.

Music is meant to invite reflection, awake feelings, activate memories, touch the heart. So these days I just let myself be affected. The music concert that I attended last week touched my heart.  I was affected not just by the flowing music, but the music conductor who happened to be blind also affected me. His hands on the keyboard were his eyes through which he created the beautiful musical notes. At the end of the program, he was asked to share his experience in the music world and the mike was handed over to him to speak.  He tilted the mike slightly away from himself, moved his head in the direction of the guitarist, and asked softly, “Is it morning or afternoon?” When he heard the reply ‘afternoon’, he placed the mike properly and cheerfully began his address by wishing the audience “Happy Afternoon”.

For that visually impaired music conductor “Believing is Seeing” and for the rest of us  “Seeing is Believing”.  While the rest of us needed to see to believe, he believed and hence saw what he believed.  He visualised that it was afternoon in his mind and saw the happy afternoon.

All of us are endowed with this power to believe and visualise what we want to happen to us in reality. This power to visualise can actually help us ti create a better life for ourselves. It is not without reason that mankind was endowed with the capacity to visualise, fantasize and imagine. Nothing in nature is created or done without a reason. Sometimes we understand it.

Everything that we want to happen has to be envisioned in the mind first. Our imagination is a specially designed tool, which provides us with the ability to actualize our goals. It is through creative mental meanderings that a child learns to develop her ability to realise the inner longings. Creative imagination is the first step in concrete realisation.  We have to dream, see it in our mind first for it to happen in reality.

“The moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. A whole stream of events issue from the decision, raising in one’s favour all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance which no man could have dreamed would have come on his way.”

Tribute to the woman

She is silent

her body always mute

her skin might sparkle

but her smiles are subdued

she can glance in stealth

her toes might quiver

she is the lady that walks

past you, anywhere anytime.

She is that mountain

hidden amidst the clouds

far away, at night.

All you can make out is that

line of fire, burning far away

cracking the darkness at night

in your vision.

She could be that cloud

veiling the strength behind

burning in thin strips from

far away, but get near

you crash and burn, in fury

in passion. Yet her earth

bears flowers

she is eternal, she is timeless.

She walks by smiling

as simple and yet a puzzle.


Rose bursts fragrance of sweetness in the air!

It lifts a weary soul when its perfumes touch every nose.

Its petals dances in the breezing air healing the wounds of the heart

And mending the aching emotion of a broken heart and soul.

Rose is simple yet full of understanding,

It simply blooms with joy in the garden yet with ready

thorns to embrace the wicked.

Rose is simply like us,

It shares the same fragrance and colors as to humans.

We have all roses ready to envelop soothing scent to others.

We have all roses ready to bring diverse colors to pamper each life!

Such a sad reality when many people un-noticeably adore more

of the thorns rather than its exaggerating petals.

Unfortunately, we see rather the thorns than its petals.

Reality bites when people look closely more of ones loopholes

rather than the good points!

We take notice first of  the thorns of the person rather than the red petals

of his kindness and humility.

We tend to lean on a single bruise of thorns that one caused to us rather than

the adorned petals that lifted us to be better persons!

When can we learn to see first the rose in others

and forget the thorns of bitterness?

“Don’t Lose The Fight!”

When the road of life seems to be thorny and rough,

When the darkness of the path seems to be endless and tough,

Don’t lose the fight.

When love ones and friends seem to be ungrateful and unkind,

When their hearts seem to be uncaring and their notions seem to be

misunderstanding yours,

Don’t lose the fight.

When the shadow of hope and the blanket of weariness abound,

When the drop of happiness seems to be pouring the lake of loneliness,

Don’t lose the fight!

When the grief of tears seems to be shedding with hopelessness,

When the deafening and outburst of your weeping seem to be unheard,

Don’t lose the fight!

When problems and trials seem to be the overflowing river,

When the ocean of solutions to your cares seems to be a desert of drought,

Don’t lose the fight!

When the flock of your neighbors turn you down,

When the deepest part of heart seems to be pierced with the knife of ridicule

and punctured by unfair judgment and unsoothing words,

Don’t you ever lose the fight!

When everybody is out there yet nobody seems to be there for you,

When you need someone to lean on yet a couch of stones and a slippery wall of uncertainty

seem to be offered to you,

Don’t damn yourself and lose the fight!

God says, “Hang on my child to the thread of hope!’

“I am the light to your winding road,

I am your Mighty Protector,

I am your FOREVER bliss,

I am your SOMEBODY standing by!”

Don’t Lose The Fight.

My humble servant,

I am just behind your fight!

All things bright and beautiful*: A (true) Christmas tale

It was Christmas Eve. The lopsided little house near the dusty road seemed asleep. None but a careful observer might see the chink of light escaping through the curtained bedroom window. The curtains were old and ragged but spotlessly clean, like everything else about the house. A pleasantly plump figure in a housecoat was sitting on the small table inside. She was busy with her scissors, skillfully cutting and folding paper. The table was littered with old (yet sparkling) gift wrapping papers, crayons and sketch pens belonging to her younger daughter and a paper full of wet rice as a substitute for glue. She was making Christmas cards for her girls. The tradition had been established in the small house ever since the twins were born, although they weren’t a Christian family.

Every year on Christmas Eve, Santa Claus (or Christmas Pappa as her twins liked to call him) arrived at this house by the roadside. He would leave Christmas cards and small presents at the head of Achu and Ammu’s bed. Two days before Christmas, the children would make a list of things they wished for, and Mother would check the lists. Not the tricycle Achu, she would say. Think of how difficult it will be for Christmas Pappa (he is even older than Grandma!) to bring it from North Pole. Can I put in ‘Barbie doll’, Momma? Five-year-old Ammu had asked once, her eyes round and anxious. Uh-oh, too expensive. Mother thought, her mind troubled. So she had told her little one, Don’t you think Barbie is too expensive sweetie? Christmas Pappa has to buy gifts for thousands of children, you know. She watched with a lump in her throat as Ammu explained to Achu why she had removed that wish from her list. Over the years, the twins grew more and more considerate towards Christmas Pappa; they stopped wishing for big and expensive presents and asked only for those things they thought could be brought conveniently from his home somewhere in the snowy north.

Both cards over, thought Mother happily. Mother was always busy. What with two inquisitive little girls and an overworked husband, Mother’s hands were always full. Father worked in the factory nearby; he was gone from morning till late in the night. Being one of the few non-Christians at workplace, he had to work on Christmas Day too. That meant it was always just her and her children on the D day. Nonetheless, Mother always made it memorable for her little girls. Over the year, she would pinch and save from her meager household budget to buy brightly-colored trinkets like tiny earrings, erasers, pencils, balloons, small stars, etc. that matched the wish lists of her Achu and Ammu.

She got up from her cramped position, yawned and stretched. The clock was striking 1 o’clock. She took all the trinkets and the cards and tiptoed to the cupboard-like room that belonged to her children. The small lovingly wrapped gifts were placed gently above the pillows of the bed. Her girls were sleeping soundly. Like angels, she thought fondly.

Mother and Father awoke to joyous shouts of ‘Merry Christmas’ early next morning. “Christmas Pappa came, came, came”, shouted Ammu, jumping up and down in excitement. He brought me everything I wanted, Achu’s eyes shone as she climbed up the bed to snuggle close to her father. Father captured Ammu under his other arm and looked at Mother smilingly over the two tousled heads. Of course he came, Father said. He will definitely come every year to visit my girls.

*All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful:
The Lord God made them all. – Cecil F. Alexander (1848, Ireland)

Based on the true story of a great family.

The Balloon

The Balloon, a theater play which was my first experience to attend such theater event, that too a drama is completely a new one for me. It has been transliterated drama organized and staged by Mr.Gyani, a famous writer and much socially responsible person who organized the event which has created a lot of hype. I do have some personal experience of having participated in Mime programs in my college. This made me curious and with great enthusiasm I went to watch the drama in the memory of my past. One of my colleagues also acted in that play, also a reason for me to go. She kept on telling us about the play since a month and she also had keen interest in cultural activities, stage plays and literature as I do. The venue was a narrow air conditioned hall with the reasonable crowd. The audience was from the Cine and small screens, some famous writers, stage artists, etc.

The story of the play was about public protest against the irrational increase of bus fare. The complication arises after their resistance and the discrimination of the Justice and the volatility of the Judge are the main content of “the Balloon”. It has been wonderfully played by the Pariksha members ( self help youths creating Social awareness). The main theme of the play is to pull out the nature of Justice and how the common people are struggling for their rights and the time taken by the court to provide the Justice to the victims. The laxity of the authorities and their sluggish nature has been portrayed very well. The protagonist of the story was shown to be dying due to poverty and long-lasting illness and is a sample of a wonderful screenplay.

One of the girl’s character among the victims has been overloaded with some unparliamentary words which I found really abusive and some dialogue deliveries are the stumbling blocks of the play. Apart from this, the play is worthy a watch and wonderful experience. The play was not commercial in nature so the audiences are also the same and it has been sponsored by very few. The Pariksha members can look out for the best sponsors because such a socially responsible play must not be suppressed due to monetary reason.

Finally!!I Baked That Cake!

Now baking a cake is no big deal, but when attempts have given you comments like “it tastes good,but it doesn’t taste like  cake”..that’s when serious preparation come into the scene. My friends refuse to believe in my culinary skill (many lunches at school have I subjected them to my experiments)and my dad is too sweet to hurt me. My ma however, looks upon my kitchen experiments as if I’m playing house. So this Christmas, I refused to be taken lightly. And I began my search for that perfect recipe of chocolate cake. My frantic search was often attempted to be thwarted by my friends who gave me recipes where they felt sure nothing could go wrong. Wherein, I just needed to measure and mix and bake..well anyone can do that. I wanted to bake, really bake a rich dark soft chocolate cake that would melt in the mouth and render everyone speechless and eat back their comments!

I found many recipes with pictures that could even melt the tongue, but I just felt so very dissatisfied. I had to bake a special cake and this time I had it in me, nothing could go wrong if I could just get that perfect recipe. By Christmas eve I became desperate. Tomorrow is Christmas and tomorrow I had to keep up my promise of my perfect cake. So while shopping my friend told me a harmless way to bake a cake, where I can save my face and they can save their tummy-a ready to bake cake mix! Now that was the final straw. I just bought everything that I could imagine to go into the making of cake and left with renewed frustration.

So around 7’O clock,I started sifting the flour and kept looking at the cut & paste recipe I had made from many and felt low…..very very low. I have always wanted to cook well. I enjoy doing it. That’s when I realized what the hell, they are not expecting anything edible anyway so I might as well just enjoy playing house. And I baked a cake, by 10. I put on the icing and I was happy. Hard labor payed off well coz I was licking my fingers and I loved the taste. Tomorrow they might laugh but I just know I did well.I kept the cake in the fridge ,proudly.

I woke up at 2 to the sounds of carols and ran downstairs to have a better look at Santa. As I got near the fridge I saw someone sitting in the floor. It was my brother in search of a  midnight snack and I found much to my dismay & happiness, he had eaten much of my cake. When he said it was delicious, I was delirious with joy. So I saved a few pieces for my parents and friends and sat down with my brother munching one of the best cakes I had ever tasted. Now for those who need my recipe, here it is:

Mix flour, coco & icing sugar. Pour a mixture of chocolate chunks melted in black coffee to the powder mixture. Add an egg and condensed milk. In goes a pinch of vanilla essence, baking soda and baking powder. Add milk and then pour in maza(yes the soft drink)…stir well…and bake. For icing, just mix coco, icing sugar and condensed milk. When the cake cools, pour in the icing and keep it for setting in the fridge.Voila there you have a beautiful dark chocolaty chocolate cake. Make sure to keep away the midnight snackers!!

A Miracle called a ‘Mother’

You embrace me with smiles

comforting, caressing with soft words

The darkness is nothing to me, I can fight

if you stand by my side, hold my hand and be my guide

Pain in my heart, pain in my eyes

I blink away the tears

unwilling to mar the much loved face

with the smallest crease of worry or fear

Taking my hand in yours

you did teach me to take a step

now I run miles and miles relentlessly,

on feet that you have moulded

with steps that you have taught..

In the mystic beauty of silence

surreptitiously in the corners of my heart

I tried to conceal the unsaid

but you read it in my eyes

and told me what it was that I  felt..

No stronger bond have I shared

no greater person have I loved

You are the smell of roses

that I have paused in life to feel, to touch..

A little cooler, a little more soothing is the breeze

with the promise of rain

I know you have come to me

Nature heralds your arrival with its lips of air

answering all my secret prayers

Much have I accomplished

much more I have achieved

but the happiness is  yours

You have smiled the biggest smile at all my victories..

Gently, deliberately, with the softest touch

You have pushed me beyond  the limits I had set for myself

Watching all the while, unseen, unheard

watching with eyes of  love..

A mother is what they call you,

the voices of all existence

I call you my life

You are the breath that I take

I’m blessed  you are mine..

Fragile dreams

Like an ardor less flame,

The Venus dims,

The dark clouds,

Have borders blue,

Like dreams,

The stars fade away in the sky,

The night wastes  away,

In the sea of light,

Relax, oh dear,

Your star stirring embrace,

Beyond the horizon,

Stands the herald of light,

The night birds passionate songs,

Have ceased to reach the ears,

After the concert,

The crickets are asleep,

Silent cool breeze of morn,

That tiptoes into the world,

Ruffles the dried leaf,

As it comes,

Silence and sloth,

Soaks all the directions,

Chaos will roar again,

In the world very soon,

Dew condenses

On the grass blades,

Stars drench the earth,

With tears

Relax, oh dear,

Your star stirring embrace,

Beyond the horizon,

Waits the herald of light,

Prajakta flowers,

Fall at its feet,

With the wind disperses,

Its choked fragrance,

Aspiration, love and hope

Are deceptive,

Yet madly we worship

These fragile idols

The cattle awake

In the barn,

Send jingle of their bells,

To the ears,

Figures far away are,

Regaining the hues,

Rustle and bustle

Has started again,

Relax, oh dear,

Your star stirring embrace,

Beyond the horizon,

Waits the herald of light,

Call it a madness,

Of one night,

Call it a dream,

That stays for a night,

Relax, oh dear,

Your star stirring embrace,

Beyond the horizon,

Waits the herald of light,

The footsteps of light,

Can be heard,

Its golden flags,

Are hoisted,

Thousand heralds of light,

Will set the world on fire,

Exposed foolishly thus,

Criminals we’ll be tagged.

The Power Of Push

Right attitude, when realised comes easily to children. They have the power of push. Along with a safe environment, encouragement and nurturing company, they can learn really fast. Let’s just call this the “Power Of Push”

At my age of four, In my School’s Annual Sports Day, My Father was proud to see me to run my first-ever race in my life.  Like the turning of a season, that day was the time of gentle joy;  a time for contentment and also for anticipation.

My whole family came to cheer me. My parents were sitting in the pavilion with all other families. Me, along with the other kids were readying to enter the field. All the children in the school, must participate, that’s the rule. It was a bright sunny day, excitements on the field, we children were divided into groups for the race. It was my first ever race.

The races have started!  Group after group the children ran their races. At a distance, My father saw me in high spirits;  joy all over my face,  happily cheering with the crowd.  I was composing myself in the anticipation of my turn.  Something with my father is screaming, “Come on my sweet heart, you can! Push my baby push!”

My father was reminded of the time when I was five years old, a quite busy baby. I was single minded baby trying to rise and walk. My father spent a lot of time with me, intently watching the process of crawl to walk evolution. I was shaky and fell down a lot.  At those times, My father gave his hand to hold for confidence.

My father encouraged me to get up every time when I fell on my buttocks.  Every time, I took a step, My father’s heart would leap and he would call to me,” Come on my sweet heart, you can! Push my baby Push!” The encouragement helped me to get an inner drive to getup and walk.  Its the “Power of Push”.

My father wanted me to be the best child I can be.  He already saw me growing up to be a wonderful person and also a performer with “Inner Push”.   I knew that my father would be there for me in every step of my life.  I succeeded  not only in standing up and walking towards my dad but also in the race at the age of four with all his encouragement, care and love.

Are you friends with your Ex

You remember lovely walks in the parks with the birds singing and the sun bathing her face with golden goodness. You remember warm nights in December and cool summers. You remember always rushing home just to hear her say “Honey I missed you and how was your day ” . You remember all her funny faces, her mood swings as well as her deep intellectualism.

Then you wake up one day its over and all you are left with are a warm memories. Can you now go back to being friends and talk about mundane things like the weather and the progress of your day ? Can you honestly tell me that you can look at your “ex” as one of the “boys” or one of the the “girl” and be in a room with person without the passion flaring again. And now when you go out do you go to the places you used to go when you were together ?

It is my view that you can’t go from lovers to friends successfully and it is best to end all contacts with a kind of air of finality that a surgeon would apply to a cancerous tissue. No calls for birthday or no small talk. I have often heard that “old fire stick catches easily” so I say remove the temptation once and for all.

Then again what do I know, I am single and all my relationships suffer a premature death so I may not be the best person to speak on this subject, so I invite all the casonovas and more experienced to advice me.

Do you trust your instincts ?

Do you trust your instincts or do you go for cold hard facts and logic. Would you for example wake up one morning and say I don’t feel like going to work today and just lay in the bed. Many persons in my hometown have coined the term “Always follow your mind” which translated means that you must trust your instincts. They claim that instincts are “God’s little pointers” to protect us from harm and are adamant that many times they have been saved from eminent downfall by not going to work one day or not taking that bus on a particular day or not going down that road just because they didn’t feel like it.

However could instincts be overrated and be doing you more harm than good ? Is it possible that the day when you decided not to go to work might be the day that the boss was going to give you a raise or a bonus. Or could it be the day that you would meet your soul mate or could that be the day when you would find a million dollars lying on the side of the street. We will never know will we? Because you stayed in bed, you didn’t go down that side street, you didn’t take the chance.

I suppose the question now is to what extent do we trust our instincts and how much should we let it guide our lives? Is Instinct the major saviour we have trumped it up to be or a major hindrance?

I am somewhat undecided about the value of instincts but I am open minded enough to to listen to your arguments regarding the value of instincts. You may even provide actual experiences to support your arguments.

The (Un) Painted walls

The Painted  Walls

The walls of Mt.Road, Chennai had been painted with some arts and sceneries two months ago, as an accord of beautifications of the city. It was really painted well and the walls which are dissipated by Graffities, Cinema posters, parties’ posters, public auctions, birthday posters of the VIPs and their sons have been saved by the Corporation and they initiated to paint it to save from the further disasters. It was an excellent idea put forwarded the city towards the beautification process. There are many artists has been employed or contracted to paint the most important road (walls) of the city. It took near by 2-3 months to complete the work and it gives away a new look to the city especially the Mount Road, the public has much appreciated the initiative and applauded the authorities. After two months now the paintings are forced to face the unexpected rainfall monsoon rainfalls(due of climate change) faded away the paintings and now it looks unstable and endangered. The authorities came out with an initiative is really to be appreciated but the quality of the work has pulled down the 3 months hard work down the drain. It could be anything that has caused the damage to the paintings but now there is a chance for all the posters to be pasted again. So the officials need to act swiftly to restore the paintings, hitherto no action has been stimulated, the public is awaiting for the authorities response.

Is your personality determined by the month you were born?

Some people will not date unless they ask you what your astrological sign is and only if that sign is compatible with theirs. Personally I think that these astrological signs are overrated. I know many disagree with me and this subject has been the topic of many passionate discussion I have been engaged in.  I think we are who we are by virtue of our genetic makeup, socialization and experience and not because of the month we born.

It is my view that there is a finite number of personally traits over six billion people in the world and as such the likelihood of two people born in the same months with same traits is very high. Surely you are going to meet a few people in your time born in January and being very miserable(this is just a manner of speaking don’t know I haven’t gotten this trait astrologically correct) but what about the four or five billion people(I have no research to back this, its just a matter of speaking) who were born in January who don’t have this trait. Consequently I am saying that persons who advance this thinking are only focusing on the few that may have this trait and even if there are many persons with this trait, I am saying that this is purely coincidental.

So do you believe that you are who you are because of the month you were in ?